Tron: Remembrance
by TronLives2
Summary: Set after the events of Legacy, Remembrance picks up in the aftermath of Flynn and Clu's reintegration. Tron is alive and faces new challenges as he sets out to right the wrongs he committed as Rinzler. In the real world, Sam is thrown into the world of corporate politics and intrigue. This story will incorporate characters from Tron (1982), Legacy, 2.0, Evolution, and Uprising.
1. Chapter 1

Streams of errant data flowed up from the depths of the Sea as he sunk down. Rinzler's coding screamed at him, telling him to move, to swim to the surface and save himself. But from the depths of his core, the program he had been–the program that had fought for the Users–stubbornly ran a counter-command, rendering Rinzler helpless.

It was his fate to derez here. He would not resist.

The surface grew further and further away as he was swallowed by the depths of the Sea. It was ironic that he would meet his end here, of all places.

The place where Flynn's miracle had emerged.

**The part of him that remained Tron had awakened when Flynn called his name.**

**_Tron, what have you become?_**

**Only at the last, when Clu had been about to derez the light-jet carrying Flynn, Sam, and the last ISO, had Tron been able to regain control over his own body. Memories that had been suppressed by Clu's protocols had surfaced in a furious explosion that had disoriented Rinzler long enough for Tron to claw his way back into consciousness. It had been a moment of exhilaration and despair.**

**When Tron rammed his own light-jet into Clu's, he had expected to be derezzed. Survival had not mattered.**

**He deserved to die.**

**But both of them had come out of that explosion unscathed. Some of Rinzler's protocols then took effect, forcing an unwilling Tron to grab his spare baton from his right leg. But before he had a chance to activate it, Clu was on top of him, fighting for a grip on the baton. Weakened by the war within himself––as Rinzler strove to release the baton to his master and as Tron struggled to keep ahold of it––Tron could not stop Clu from snatching it out of his grip.**

**Tron could only watch powerlessly as Clu activated the light-jet and sped off in pursuit of Flynn. Then his body hit the surface of the Sea of Simulation and he was enveloped by the darkness.**

Tron knew that he had only a few moments before his functions shut down. On the Grid, programs had a constant source of energy that they absorbed from the Grid itself. But here in the Sea, the effect was quite the opposite: it drained energy. And Rinzler had already used up quite a lot of it powering his vehicle during the light-jet chase.

It was the end.

As his circuitry began to flicker out and his body grew numb from the lack of energy, Tron found himself buried in ancient memories dredged up from when he first met Flynn…

**"****Alan!"**

**Tron glared at the unknown program standing before him, in both irritation and suspicion. "Where did you hear that name?" he demanded.**

**"****Well that's your name, isn't it?" the other said belligerently.**

**Tron clenched his fists at the attitude of this upstart, and snarled, "The name of my User!"**

**An expression that Tron couldn't properly designate crossed the stranger's face, just before the other program took his place in the game-transfer pad.**

**"****How did ****_you _****know?" Tron asked coldly.**

**"****I'm a program from a User that knows Alan."**

**"****He was disoriented during transport, Tron," Ram offered, standing on Tron's right.**

**"****Yeah, but I'm remembering all kinds of stuff," the stranger said loudly. "Like my User wants me to take out the MCP."**

**Tron inwardly flinched at the stranger's brash declaration, and fought to keep his expression calm. "My User wants that too," he gritted out through his teeth.**

**"****I know," the other program responded.**

**Tron, who had remained perfectly still up to that point, turned his head to look at the new program in startled amazement.**

**_Who is he?_**

Inside his dark helmet, a sad smile crossed Tron's face. Flynn had always stood out starkly from other programs with his, as the User had later described it, easy-go-lucky personality. Flynn had been everything Tron wasn't–cocky, belligerent, and immature–and it had driven the security program crazy. Tron, who had been spurred to action by his directives and core programming, had had very little toleration for Flynn's abnormalities.

But during that fateful light-cycle game so long ago, Flynn had given them a chance to escape the Grid, leading them through the maze of the system and proving himself a worthy warrior in the process. Tron slowly gained respect for Flynn's underlying qualities and started to consider him a friend, even if the other man's quirks still bothered him.

Then, a few megacycles later, Flynn had revealed the truth about himself, who and what he really was, to Tron and Yori…

**"****It's time I level with you. I'm what you guys call a User."**

**Tron thought for a microcycle that he had misheard what Flynn had said.**

**"****You're a User?" Yori asked, with hardly veiled amusement and disbelief.**

**"****I took wrong turn somewhere," Flynn said easily.**

**Willing to accept Flynn's statement, Tron asked hopefully, "Well if you ****_are _****a User, then everything you've done has been according to a plan, right?"**

**Flynn laughed and replied, "You wish!"**

**Tron's puzzled expression must have informed Flynn that an explanation was required.**

**"****Well, you know what it's like," Flynn continued. "You just keep doin' what it seems like you're supposed to be doin', no matter how crazy it seems."**

**"****That's the way it is for programs, yes," Tron admitted.**

**"****I hate to disappoint ya, pal, but most of the time that's the way it is for Users, too."**

**That statement turned Tron's world upside-down. It didn't show on the surface beyond a mild frown, but on the inside his thoughts were moving a mile a minute. Programs, himself included, had always assumed Users were perfect and didn't make mistakes; after all, Users had created programs in the first place. They were practically gods to them. Then Flynn comes along, the most unusual person Tron ever met on the Grid, and he claims he's a User.**

**A User? Flynn?**

**All of Tron's preconceptions of Users instantly crumbled. If Flynn was what he said he was, and if what he said about Users was true, then that meant that Users weren't gods, but just people. And, surprisingly, Tron found himself willing and almost eager to accept that. Seeing Flynn, and having spent time around him, it made it a lot easier.**

**A smile crept across his face and he shook his head with bemusement. "Stranger and stranger…"**

A soft shudder ran through the Sea, but Tron didn't feel it. His body's automatic survival functions had shut down his consciousness in order to keep him online for as long as possible, while his energy fell to barely adequate levels.

Just as the ripples quieted and the Sea was calm again, an enormous explosion rocked the entire Grid. White energy erupted from the Portal in a circular shockwave that shattered everything in its path, including Clu's command ship _The Rectifier_. The Sea trembled violently and heaved up a tsunami wave of data up from the farthest depths, sending trillions of data bits crashing on to the Outland shores. In the aftershock of the wave, Tron's body was carried up gently on the swells, and deposited in a limp heap on a small rocky outcropping.

His body hungrily sucked up energy from the surface of the Grid, just microcycles before he would have shut down permanently. So instead of derezzing, Tron's body started a reboot, running a diagnostic on all his functions and reactivating them one at a time.

Query: _What is your designation?_

Reply: _Designation Rinzler011001, Clu's enforcer–––error: proper designation Tron100110, security program._

Query: _Who is your creator?_

Reply: _I was created by Clu to be the perfect program._

Query: _Improper response. Who is your creator?_

Reply: _Alan-1._

Query: _What is your purpose?_

Reply: _I fight for Clu––––error: I fight for the Users._


	2. Chapter 2

Tron opened his eyes to a different world. The terrain around him was obviously damaged–he could see areas where the ground was derezzing and crumbling away. He didn't know what had happened, but it must have been devastatingly powerful for it to cause a surge strong enough to bring him back up to the surface. Looking across the expanse of the Sea, he could perceive that the portal was closed and Clu's command ship was nowhere to be seen. What did that mean? Had Clu succeeded in transporting himself and an entire force of his loyal Black Guards into Flynn's world? Did Flynn escape?

The Sea of Simulation lapped at his feet, whispering softly, while his body reclined on a rough surface of digital rock. Groaning softly, he rolled onto his stomach and pulled himself further onto the shore.

He was still alive.

And he was also still in control. He could feel Rinzler inside of him like a wild beast raging to be set free, but now their places were reversed. He was Tron again, not Clu's pet killer.

But along with his freedom from the terrible prison of his own mind, came the burden of a thousand cycles-worth of memories of being Rinzler. He remembered it all down to the last detail, and it sickened him. He scraped his hands against the gravelly ground, tortured by the knowledge that those hands had murdered thousands of innocent programs, even…

…even Beck.

**"****Expect your training to a long, difficult road, Beck. Before victory, there will be setbacks. Many of them."**

**"****So when does the training start?"**

**Tron and his young protégé were racing through the Outlands on their lightcycles, dodging outcroppings and pits. Both of them had their bikes' light-walls activated, leaving bright glowing trails in their wake.**

**"****Right now!" Tron answered as he came alongside the younger program's bike. "So try and keep up."**

**Beck accelerated and turned his bike into a wide curve, forcing Tron to turn with him.**

**"****Don't rely on your light-wall," Tron advised. "Learn to control me without it!"**

**He switched off his own light-wall, and Beck followed suit. They wove in and out, dodging obstacles, one gaining the lead and then the other, as Tron continued his lesson. "Dominate with momentum! Anticipate!"**

**Beck took the lead again, and glanced back to ask, "Like that?"**

**Tron shook his head at the juvenile error. "Eyes forward," he reprimanded.**

**A large butte in their path forced them to split away from each other, and for a few moments Tron lost sight of Beck. When their paths converged again, Tron blind-sided the other program with his cycle before zooming ahead. **

**"****This isn't a game, Beck!" Tron shouted…**

Tron shook his head, as if that could drive away that old memory and the grief which came with it. Beck had been such a strong-willed program, but at the same time lacking in self-confidence. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Beck to even agree to take on the mantle of Tron, and much more effort to train him. Tron remembered the first pep-talk he'd given the young mechanic, about rising above his programming and becoming something more.

He bitterly realized just how foolish he'd been back then.

No matter how much training he'd given Beck, it hadn't been enough. The boy just hadn't had the strength, the reflexes, the reaction time that had been hard-wired into Tron's coding. When the inevitable confrontation had occurred, Tron remembered Beck's first words.

_I never thought I would have to fight _**_you_**_._

Tron pulled himself up onto his knees and placed the palms of his hands against his ears, as if it could block out the voices in his mind.

_Tron, fight it! It can't end this way! _ Beck's voice, filled with pain and desperation.

**_Finish him, Rinzler._**Clu's voice, cold and triumphant.

_You don't have to do this, Tron._

**_Derez him._**

_No!_

**_Do it._**

Tron could still feel Beck's code spilling over his hands.

"Forgive me," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry, Beck."

It was well within Clu's capabilities to be sadistic and cruel; Tron had found that out the first time he'd been captured. The methodic torture that had nearly killed him and left him permanently scarred had been inflicted according to Clu's orders.

Many cycles later, after his recapture and repurposing, Tron's first task as Rinzler had been to seek out and destroy Beck. That boy had been the only remaining program to know for sure that Tron was still alive, and Clu wanted to be certain that problem was rectified.

It had been a long battle, because Clu liked a spectacle. He hadn't allowed Beck to die until he was practically torn to shreds, and could no longer even lift his disc to defend himself. Only then did Clu give Rinzler the order to end it.

Even up to the moment he was derezzed, Beck had pleaded with Tron, begging his friend to fight the repurposing. But only Rinzler had heard him, and Rinzler hadn't cared.

Rinzler listened only to Clu.

_I am tainted._

He could never escape the past. He was a murderer.

_Is there nothing left?_

_I destroyed it all, with my own hands._

_Despicable._

Tron reached back and pulled both discs off his back. He stared at them for several long millicycles, torn between the desire to destroy himself and the knowledge that doing so would simply be running away from responsibility. He could feel Rinzler pounding on the inside of his skull, protesting wildly against any suicidal act. If only to be rid of that abomination, Tron would gladly stab himself through the chest with his disc. But he still had a responsibility; it had been his since Alan-1 created him.

_I am…I was a protector. At the very least I can try to protect the Grid against Clu's forces, even if I can never absolve myself of my crimes._

"Flynn," he said aloud. "I promise you, I won't fail you again, old friend."


	3. Chapter 3

The long trek back to civilization revealed to Tron just how badly the Grid had been damaged in the mysterious catastrophe. Everywhere he looked there were deep abrasions in the land that were slowly widening as the corruption spread. He could also see hoards of gridbugs feeding on the damaged code, eroding it further with their insatiable hunger for energy.

The Grid was falling apart.

Kneeling down, Tron placed one hand on the ground and said, "Access Grid memory, cycle 3023, 07.98 hours, Portal 25."

He'd been putting this off for the past several megacycles, but couldn't stand it anymore.

He had to know. He had to know what had happened with Flynn and Clu.

A holographic screen rose up from the ground in front of him and began replaying the events that had occurred at the Portal. Tron watched with pained eyes, seeing for the first time what over a thousand cycles had done to his best friend.

"Flynn…"

In the playback, Tron could see that Kevin Flynn had become an old, tired man. Unlike programs, who did not age, Flynn had told Tron that Users' bodies did not last forever.

**"****Users aren't like the Little Engine that Could, choo-chooing along for eternity. We grow old and die, man."**

**"****Die?" Tron didn't even bother to ask what a "Little Engine that Could" was, because he was sure he wouldn't understand the explanation.**

**"****Yeah. It's not the same as here, where programs derez and stop existing completely. Our bodies don't disappear, but we're gone all the same." Flynn's eyes had a sad, haunted look. "And the people who are left behind feel like…like a part of them has died too. They look fine on the outside, but inside they feel hollow."**

**"****You sound like you're talking from experience, Flynn."**

**"****I am," Flynn responded heavily.**

**Tron had noticed that Flynn had been acting unlike himself during his last couple visits to the Grid, and also more exhausted. Stranger still, Flynn always talked very animatedly about his wife and son, and recently hadn't said a word about them. "Flynn, what's happened?" he asked with concern.**

**"****My…my wife…" Flynn's voice trembled with grief. "She's dead."**

**Tron had never seen his friend so upset and felt quite awkward; he could take down rogue programs, no problem, but he was out his element entirely when it came to comforting someone in pain. Wanting to at least do something, Tron put an arm around Flynn's shoulders.**

**Something glistened at the edge of Flynn's eye and trickled down his cheek. Puzzled, Tron reached out and caught in the palm of his right hand as it dripped off of his friend's face.**

**"****What is this?" he asked, rubbing the unknown substance with his finger.**

**Flynn let out a melancholy laugh. "They're called tears."**

**"…****tears? Are your eyes malfunctioning?"**

**"****No. When Users feel sad, they cry tears. It's our bodies' way of relieving stress."**

**They stood in companionable silence for a few millicycles.**

**"****You miss your wife?"**

**"****Yes, Tron. Terribly."**

Watching the memory feed, Tron could now understand what Flynn had said. There was an ache in his chest that throbbed painfully, and it had nothing to do with physical injuries.

_"__This is mine," Flynn said, placing a hand on his son's chest. He started walking slowly towards Clu, who stood before them on the narrow walkway, the last obstacle between them and the Portal._

_"__I had a feeling you'd be here!" Clu shouted. He laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice. "The cycles haven't been kind, have they!?"_

_"__Oh, you don't look so bad," Flynn answered, trying to sound light but just sounding tired._

_"__I did everything! Everything you ever asked!" Clu said petulantly. He too, started taking slow steps towards his creator._

_"__I know you did."_

_"__I executed the plan!"_

_"__As you saw it."_

_Clu's arms were outstretched, almost in a pleading gesture. "You…you promised that we would change the world, together! You broke your promise."_

_"__I know." Flynn's tone was heavy with guilt. "I understand that, now."_

_"__I took the system to it's _**_maximum_**_ potential," Clu continued, as if he hadn't heard Flynn, "I created the _**_perfect_**_ system!"_

_"__The thing about perfection is that it's unknowable," Flynn said, shaking his head. He and Clu stopped a few feet from each other. "It's impossible, but it's also right in front of us, all the time! You couldn't know that because I didn't know when I created you! I'm sorry, Clu." Flynn reached out towards Clu, a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry."_

_For a microcycle, it appeared that Clu would actually enter Flynn's embrace, and that would've been the end of it. His expression softened, and he seemed to _**_want_**_ to do it. But there was too much anger, too much hatred, and he struck out with his foot, kicking Flynn backwards. With a bestial howl, Sam charged forward and swung his fists at Clu's face, catching him on the jaw twice, but neither hurting nor fazing the program. Ducking low, Sam lunged at Clu's chest and tried to barrel him backwards, but it was useless. Grabbing Sam's shoulder with one hand, Clu effortlessly lifted and threw him further down the walkway, treating the young man as a minor nuisance. His true goal was Flynn._

_"Go," Flynn said weakly to the ISO female._

_She nodded, her lower lip trembling. Using a grapple, she swung out and below the walkway, using her forward momentum to land feet-first back on the walkway, behind Clu. He advanced on her with his disc raised, but Flynn's voice stopped him._

_"Clu! Remember what you came for."_

_As Clu advanced on the prostrate Flynn, the User took that opportunity to reprogram the walkway to start retracting–effectively keeping Clu from pursuing his son or the ISO further, and also forcing an unwilling Sam towards the Portal._

_"Dad!" Sam shouted desperately, unable to do anything but watch Clu bear down on his father._

_"You knew I'd beat you," Clu said coldly, as he leaned down to remove Flynn's disc from the User's back, "and still you did all this…for _**_him_**_?" He activated the disc's matrix as he stood, and his expression of triumph faltered when the profile that appeared was not Flynn's, but the ISO girl. He glanced back over his shoulder to where Sam and the ISO stood, and saw the disc on her back. Understanding dawned, and he looked back at Flynn with a betrayed and confused expression. "No…no…Why?"_

_"He's my _**_son_**_!"_

_Enraged, Clu raised the disc and activated it, prepared to strike Flynn dead. But instead he stuck it in the walkway and took a running leap, trying to cross the wide berth that now separated him from his goal. He caught on to the edge of the separated walkway and pulled himself up._

_"Go!" Flynn called out._

_"Dad!"_

_"Sam, it's time!" Flynn got to his feet, and glanced back. The Rectifier was almost at the Portal._

_"No!" Sam cried._

_"Sam, it's what he wants," the ISO girl said gently._

_"I'm not leaving you, dad!"_

_"Take her!" Flynn urged._

_The ISO removed the disc from her back reverently and handed it to Sam. Reluctantly, he took it from her grasp and raised it above his head._

_"Yes!"_

_The portal accept the disc and began pulsing faster as it prepared for transport._

_"Goodbye, kiddo," Flynn whispered softly._

_Clu tried to get into the Portal before it closed, but Flynn activated Reintegration. It sent out a small shockwave that sucked Clu backwards, away from the portal and towards Flynn. He began to disintegrate the closer he got to Flynn, and by the time his body had reached his maker's he was nearly gone. Flynn's arms closed around him, like a father embracing his son, then a burst of light exploded outwards and…_

The feed ended there.

Tron let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Though he processed information at a much faster speed than any human, it took him a bit to truly comprehend what he had seen. He knew perfectly well what Reintegration was; he'd recognized the signs and effects as he watched memory feed. He also understood that Flynn could in no way survive such a process. What was so hard to accept was the painful truth.

Flynn, his oldest and dearest friend…

…was dead.

He would never come back. They would never stand together again, never laugh together again, never speak together again. And worst of all, Tron could never explain, never apologize for his actions to the one person he'd hurt the most.

How he wished, now, that he were human.

If he had been, he would have indulged himself in what Flynn had called "tears".

Tron could almost hear Flynn asking, in that slightly amused tone he'd always used, _"You miss me, man?"_

…

"Yes, Flynn. Terribly."


	4. Chapter 4

Even Tron City had not escaped the destruction Flynn had caused. Having at last reached the very outskirts of the once-great city, its namesake could see many places where the buildings had been partially destroyed in the blast. He wondered how many unfortunate and unsuspecting programs had been killed without even knowing what hit them.

_Flynn, is _**_this_**_ going to be your legacy?_

_No. I won't _**_let_**_ it be._

Glancing upwards, he noticed that the once-prominent _End of Line_ club building was glaringly missing. He remembered leaving there in pursuit of Flynn, on Clu's instructions, only a few megacycles earlier, so what could…oh, he knew. Of course, Clu had destroyed it to erase any witnesses.

Tron had chosen to edit the settings of his armor in order to conceal the T-symbol on his chest, which had made him so iconically recognizable in the past. At one time, he had been proud of wearing it; to him it had represented freedom and justice. Now he was too ashamed of himself to wear it. He felt that he had done far too many wicked things to warrant bearing that symbol, which had, at one time, given hope to so many.

He was a dishonored soldier, unworthy of his war ribbons.

And at the moment, he seriously doubted he would ever wear it again.

During his time as Rinzler his helmet had been a mask, hiding his true identity from the rest of the Grid, but Tron wore it now with some relief. He didn't want anyone knowing who he was, not yet. There were too many potential questions that could be asked, too many ugly truths that would be revealed. No, for now, he had to remain anonymous. Just another nondescript program.

The more pressing problem, however, was the massive guard patrols moving throughout the city. He'd been waiting outside Tron City for a couple megacycles, trying to figure out their patrol times and patterns so that he could slip into the city unnoticed, but had been unsuccessful so far.

His concentration was so completely focused on the problem in front of him, that he failed to hear the footsteps behind him until a young woman's voice said, "It looks pretty bad, doesn't it? The damage to the city was pretty extensive."

Tron whirled around to face the speaker, immediately bending into a battle-ready crouch, his discs appearing in his hands. His opponent was a solitary program: a slender female with long, black hair pulled back into a braid.

"Whoa, there," the girl said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'm not your enemy."

"That remains to be seen." He glared at her circuitry, which glowed a bright yellow. "You're a renegade."

"Aren't you? Anybody hiding from Clu is a renegade, regardless of their circuitry color. You and I are on the same side."

"We are _not_ on the same side." Regardless, Tron allowed himself to relax slightly, and he put away his discs. The girl was alone, and the terrain wasn't right for an ambush. He glanced back at the city limits, asking the question that had been troubling him for the past several megacycles. "How many were derezzed?"

"In the blast that happened seventeen megacycles ago? I don't know; several hundred maybe. They're still tallying the names. Why?"

He grimaced beneath his helmet at the estimated number. So many programs killed. And how many more would be found?

"What are you doing out here?" he asked harshly, trying to bury some of his pain with his suspicion of her.

The girl folded her arms and shifted her weight onto her left foot. "I think I should be asking _you _that. It's way past curfew. Any program caught outside the city after curfew gets sent to the games. Everyone knows that."

_Then what are _**_you _**_doing out here? _He cocked his head to one side inquiringly, but said nothing.

She must have caught his implication, because she responded with a knowing smile, "I don't have to worry. I don't _get_ caught."

_Oh, you don't, do you? And why is that?_

"Where are you from?" the program asked, abruptly changing the subject. When several microcycles passed and he didn't respond, the girl's lip curled down into a displeased pout. "The silent type, huh."

"Tell me," he said, keeping his voice rigid as he struggled with sudden, irrational anger, "if it's so impossible to get in or out of the city after curfew, then how did you do it?"

"I have my ways."

She was baiting him and it irritated him more than it should have, but he didn't really care enough to wonder why. Closing the distance between them, he put a heavy hand on her shoulder and spoke in a tone that demanded a straight answer. "Tell me."

"All right!" she said, flinching at his firm grip. "All right, I'll tell you! But first, you have to promise me that what I'm about say, you will never reveal to _anyone_. If you do, I can't guarantee you'll live very long."

"I see." He'd figured that she wasn't working alone. "I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Um…could you let go? Please? You're hurting me." There was a slight catch in her breath as she spoke.

Glancing down, Tron realized that he was practically crushing her shoulder in his grip, and he snatched his hand away like he'd been burned. _What is _**_wrong_**_ with me? Why did I do that? I didn't even realize… _He watched the girl rub her shoulder with a pained look on her face, and felt suddenly guilty. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It's all right, I guess. Now listen carefully," she began, her tone perfectly serious, lacking the playfulness it had had before. "The guard patrols are organized so that each group is always in sight of at least one other, eliminating any gaps in their security. Once curfew hits, nobody's getting in or out undetected unless they use the catacombs."

"Catacombs?"

"A sophisticated network of tunnels beneath the city. They were built during the Purge by programs who were sympathetic to the ISOs and tried to smuggle them out."

"The guards don't know about these tunnels?"

"Oh, they know about some of them, and they keep watch over the entrances they've discovered. But it's nearly impossible to map the entire maze of tunnels, and it's also very easy to get hopelessly lost unless you know exactly where you're going. The guards don't venture very far inside, for fear of wandering around forever."

"And how do _you _know about these catacombs?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she responded tersely.

"Oh, I think it is. How do I know that you're not trying to lead me down there to get me lost, like those guard programs?"

"You don't. But right now, I think you have no other option than to trust me."

Tron wanted to disagree, but knew that he had no chance alone against hoards of repurposed programs. He might be able to hold his own for a while, but he knew eventually he would be overwhelmed. After all, it had happened before. "I would at least like to know what you're planning to get out of this."

"Well, I may…request your…_assistance_ on occasion."

"Aha. It figures." Tron crossed his arms. "What _kind _of assistance?"

The girl huffed a little indignantly. "That's really beside the point!"

He'd had enough of this. Leaning forward menacingly, Tron put his helmeted face very close to hers and said in a low growl, "If you _think_ I'm going to let you _use_ me in repayment for your help, you're very much mistaken. I have very specific reasons for wanting to get inside Tron City, and I won't let you be an obstacle to my plans. Once you get me inside, our acquaintance is over. Is. That. Clear."

She gulped visibly and said in a whisper, "Crystal."

"Good. Now, show me the entrance to these catacombs."


	5. Chapter 5

The renegade program led him back into the Outlands, almost out of sight of the city, before she stopped in a narrow canyon. "It's here. The tunnel entrance is inside a small cave further down this ravine."

"Why wasn't it ever found by Clu's patrols?"

"The entrance is blocked by a firewall. Only programs who know it's there can get inside, or even see it."

"Clever."

"Well, it _was _built during the Purge. You know how it was back then," the girl said quietly. "It got so bad that ISO's were being cut down in the streets, while Clu was telling everyone that his takeover was for the greater good. Anybody who didn't agree was taken to the games. Programs were running scared, not knowing who to trust. The programs who built the tunnels probably took every precaution against being discovered."

When they arrived at the tunnel entrance, Tron had to admire the work that had gone into disguising it. He could have passed by it a thousand times and never noticed. The cave was small and appeared to be only a few feet in depth, but the renegade program strode inward purposefully. After a few steps she completely disappeared, seemingly having passed right through the back wall of the cave. Tron followed close behind her, crossing the threshold into a spacious tunnel lined with glowing gridlines of light.

The tunnel very quickly turned into a steep decline, taking the two programs deeper underground. It took a lot to impress Tron, and these underground passages were simply incredible. Only a User or a master hacker program could have built them; the construction was just too smooth and perfect for it to have been an amateur's job.

"Keep up," the girl urged him impatiently. "The Reds might not venture much into the catacombs, but a lot of strays find their way down. You'll find them almost everywhere down here, wandering around, lost, until their minds are completely gone. They'll attack any programs they see."

They continued on in silence, traversing deeper into the maze of intersecting tunnels for a little over one megacycle. Tron tried to keep track of each turn they took, but every tunnel looked exactly the same as all the ones preceding them, and he eventually gave up.

Despite the girl's warning about strays, they never came across another program. Tron was relieved when at last their path began to rise towards the surface again. "We're close to the exit," the renegade program said, keeping her voice low. "It opens into the basement of the End of Line Club."

Tron frowned at that. If the tunnel opened up under the club, then wouldn't Castor have known about it? And since Castor had been Clu's informant for quite a few cycles, it was entirely possible that the location of this entrance had been compromised already. He also realized very well that this girl might have no idea of Castor's duality, since most programs were convinced he was an ISO sympathizer. Worse, he couldn't tell her of his suspicions because that would reveal to her that he knew more than any ordinary program ought to know about Clu's connections.

"I thought the building was destroyed," he said instead.

"Only the top half. The guards said it was an accident, but only the stupid ones believe that. Clu had Castor murdered, plain and simple, because he tried to help that User who was here."

"What?" he asked sharply.

"You didn't know about it? How could you _not _know it? The rumors must have reached every city on the Grid by now. Programs are saying Flynn is back."

Tron was glad she couldn't see his face right then.

He was probably the only program alive who knew that Flynn was gone for good. And the Son of Flynn? Sam? Tron had no idea _what_ to think of him; Flynn had told him stories many cycles ago, when Sam had been a little child, but that was the most he knew about the young User. Tron had no way to judge his character, as his brief acquaintance with the adult Sam had been almost entirely occupied with trying to kill him. He couldn't say whether or not the Grid would ever see another User, now that Flynn was dead.

"Flynn's appearance changes everything," the renegade continued, a note of enthusiasm in her voice. "Maybe he intends to free the Grid at last."

"…Maybe," Tron answered softly.

She seemed confused by his noncommittal answer, but surprisingly had the decency not to press him about it. They walked for only a few more microcycles before they reached their destination. The tunnel exit was much the same as the entrance: once outside, you'd never know it was there. Tron glanced back over his shoulder and saw only a smooth, metallic wall with softly glowing gridlines.

"Well, I've held up my end of the bargain," the girl said, causing Tron to stop staring at the wall and return his attention to her.

"Yes, you did. Thank you." He held out his hand.

She looked at the proffered hand, but didn't take it. Instead, she brought her fingers to her lips, kissed them lightly, then reached out and lightly brushed the side of his neck with the tips of her fingers.

Tron bit back a cry as her gentle touch sent a sudden electrical surge through his system. He staggered back, shocked and disoriented, his equilibrium disrupted. Panic began to settle in his gut when he realized that his body was rapidly numbing over and seizing up; it had been mere seconds since she'd touched him, and already he could barely move. "What did you…do to me?" he gasped.

"I hacked your system when I touched you," the girl said quietly. "I've activated a partial shut-down. In just a few microcycles you'll be completely unable to move or speak. A few microcycles after that, you'll enter sleep mode."

Tron sank to his knees as all feeling left his legs. "Why?"

"I'm sorry," she said, a sincere note of apology in her voice, "but it was necessary. Understand, I'm not betraying you to the Occupation, so you needn't worry about waking up in a holding cell. I'm only ensuring that you won't reveal what you know to anyone else."

"What's…what's happening to me? I don't…"

"I slipped a piece of code into your system when I made physical contact with you. That code is scrambling any and all memories you have of me, as well as what has happened in the past two megacycles, and replacing it with a different memory."

_Where…am I? What was I doing…just now?_

Tron shook his head slowly as the new coding began to take effect. He tilted his face up and saw someone standing above him. He squinted, but his eyes refused to focus; all he could see was a fuzzy yellow blur. _Clu?_

A woman's voice echoed in his ears, speaking words that he knew should make sense, but for some reason were impossible to understand.

"When you wake up, you won't remember me, won't remember how you really got here. You'll think you managed to slip past the patrols and hid out in this basement until it was safe. I realize, of course, there's little point in telling you this since you'll forget it all very soon, but I feel you at least deserve to know the truth. Many lives depend on the secrecy of the tunnels, and I'm not willing to risk that secret being revealed."

_Who is that? I feel like I know that voice, but…I can't remember…_

_I can't remember._

_Why can't I remember?_

_I feel…tired._

_I can try to remember later._

_Sleep. That's what I need. I need…sleep._


	6. Chapter 6

Tron's opened his eyes blearily to find himself staring up at a blank ceiling. He was lying sprawled out on the floor of a dark room, and every part of him ached.

_Where am I?_

His mind was still groggy as he came out of sleep mode, so for a few microcycles he was unable to understand why he was there. Then as his head began to clear, he remembered.

_I managed to sneak past the guards and into the city last night. And I…I came here to hide out until it was safe. But why do I feel like there's more I should remember?_

He sat up slowly, painfully, struggling with inexplicable disorientation. Tron shook his head side to side, trying to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep from his brain. _What is going on with me? I never feel this groggy after a sleep rotation._

A loud noise startled him to his feet. It was slightly musical, and he realized it had to be an announcement notice. The sound had been broadcasted so loudly he'd heard it loud and clear down in the basement.

"Attention, programs," said a deadpan, feminine voice. "Standby for a message from your benevolent administrator."

_What?_

Tron hadn't really given thought to who Clu might leave in charge, and now he cursed himself for his negligence. There could only be one person…

"Greetings, programs."

Tron gritted his teeth as old hatred blossomed in his chest. He would recognize that smooth, heartless voice anywhere.

"Dyson."

"I know the rumors of Flynn's return have many of you worried," Dyson said over the PA, a false note of compassion in his voice. "But fear not, these rumors are _only_ rumors, and nothing more. They are being spread by insurgents whose only wish is to disrupt the peace that your beneficent leader, Clu, has bestowed upon you. I will urge you to inform us, your loyal guardians, of any signs of disloyalty in your fellow programs. They are nothing but a danger to us and to themselves, and must be reeducated, taught the error of their ways. That is all; thank you for your time."

_You mean 'repurposed', Dyson. And I learned all too well what _**_that_**_ means…_**_old friend_**_._

**Tron woke up inside a glass-like containment chamber. He coughed raggedly, wincing at the sharp pains that stabbed through him from the deep gashes across his chest and abdomen. Weakly he pressed his hands against the walls of his slippery prison, slowly rising to his feet. He slammed his fists against the sides of the cylindrical holding chamber, but they did not even tremble.**

**He bent over, panting from exhaustion from just that small effort. The damage to his code was extensive and severely drained his strength, but was made all the more painful because of who had dealt that damage.**

**_I was betrayed._**

**Betrayed by a friend. Tron shut his eyes tight as flashes of the terrible night replayed in his mind. Clu's turning hadn't been so much of a surprise–he'd seen it coming for many cycles–but Dyson's treachery had caught Tron off guard and struck him deeply. Tron couldn't believe that the one program he'd trusted in the most had chosen to throw in his lot with Clu.**

**It hurt to know that their friendship had meant so little.**

**Taking notice his surroundings for the first time, Tron was startled to see hundreds, possibly thousands, of tubes identical to the one in which he was imprisoned. And each chamber contained one program.**

**He recognized the program in the next chamber over as one of his subordinates. "Reeve?"**

**The other program didn't respond; his eyes were open but he stared blankly forward, expressionless. He clearly wasn't in sleep mode, but appeared to be in some kind of trance. Glancing upwards, Tron noticed that Reeve's disc was hovering over its owner, inside of some kind of device.**

**"****Reeve! Hang tight until I can figure a way out of here!"**

**A dull, female voice rung out in the enormous room. "Initiating repurposing protocol. Standby for code extraction."**

**Tron didn't know what "repurposing" was, but he had a sinking feeling in his gut.**

**Reeve moved for the first time, blinking once and tilting his face up towards the disc that hovered above his head. His mouth dropped opened and hung slack as he reached slowly above his head with both arms.**

**"****Reeve!" Tron called desperately.**

**But he could do nothing.**

**Nothing but watch as a stream of blue-tinted code laced out from Reeve's forehead, and a nearly identical stream of red code trickled down from the disc. The two data streams curled around each other as one entered Reeve, and the other was removed. Reeve's circuitry faded from blue to a harsh red as the new code was accepted into his body.**

**"****No…!" Tron pounded against the walls of his prison, as if that could stop the violation of everything he believed in being played out in a grotesque display before his eyes.**

**Every way he turned, he saw them. Saw their faces, empty of expression, completely oblivious to the fact that they were each being transformed into mindless drones.**

**Their identity, their memories, their freedom…**

**Everything that Flynn had given them was being stolen away.**

**Tron collapsed to his knees, despair gripping his heart as he realized his complete and utter helplessness.**

**"****Dyson," he whispered despondently. "What have you done?"**

"Beck kept me from killing you last time," Tron hissed, feeling slight pleasure in allowing his anger and hatred to rage. "But he's gone now, and whose fault is that? This time, there is no one between you, and the hand of vengeance."


	7. Chapter 7

Tron spent the next several days collecting intel only. He had to find out the general feeling amongst the populace; whether or not they bought the anti-User message that Clu had been trying to drill into their heads for over a thousand cycles, or if they still believed in the Users. Not surprisingly, it was nearly impossible to get any one program to admit to anything besides Clu's lies, because they knew it could very easily mean being betrayed to the regime and being shipped off to the Games.

It was a constant source of chagrin to Tron that the Games––which Flynn had redeemed from their initial brutality in the old days of the MCP––had been returned to their old state of kill-or-be-killed. And what sickened him even more were the enormous crowds of brainwashed programs who attended as eager spectators to watch the violence.

And Clu had had the audacity to label this system as "perfect".

Because the guard patrols were heavy even during the day rotation, Tron tended to frequent the sleazier sections of Tron City, where few programs asked any unwanted questions. He was repulsed by the squalor that many of the programs had to endure in those sectors, but recognized that there was nothing he could do about it.

Not yet.

Walking down an empty alleyway littered with trash and scattered data cubes, Tron approached a rather undesirable establishment that called itself a Club. In reality, it was a gathering place for programs who wanted few questions to be asked, and cheap libations and entertainment to be bought. Though the Grid was always dark, it was lit up by innumerable circuit lines that ran all throughout the system. This "club" was so dark inside that Tron could only tell bodies apart by their glowing circuitry as the bright lines floated around the dim room. The only real light to be found was shining over the bar, where a fat, slouching program–presumably the owner of this distinguished establishment–was pouring drinks.

Tron had come here several times in the past few days, but hadn't opened his mouth to ask any questions. He had come only to listen, to hear what the programs were saying. They generally had very little to say that was of any interest to him, but just once he'd heard a program mention "the Resistance" in passing, which had greatly piqued his curiosity. He remembered very well, back in the days when he'd been hiding out near Argon City, having a grand idea of forming a resistance to fight Clu. Apparently programs elsewhere had had the same thought, but had failed. Clu had hunted insurrectionist programs relentlessly, and had used Rinzler as his sword.

Pushing and shoving his way through the milling crowd of programs, as well as around the seats and benches scattered around on the floor which were impossible to see, Tron found his way to the bar counter.

"Oh, the new guy?" the bartender said gruffly. "What'll it be?"

Tron found it incredible that, in this light, the program could actually identify him as 'the new guy', and off-handedly wondered if this guy said the same line to anybody he didn't recognize. "Nothing. I want information."

The barkeep glanced around Tron, as if expecting to see the red glow of the guards somewhere in the mess of programs' circuitry shifting around in the room, but seeing none, he finally asked in a quite different tone, "What _kind _of information?"

Tron lowered his voice to match the barkeep's. "What do you know about the Resistance?"

The effect those two words had on the program was somewhat disturbing. He was a rather obese program with prominent jowls, and his face literally deflated, while his pale skin became even paler, if that were possible. "I don't know anything about those peace-disturbing creeps!" he protested in a hoarse voice.

"Don't give me that old line. It's written all over your face: you know something, so spill!"

"I _can't_!" the program whined. "I could get sent to the games!"

"I'm not with the Occupation," Tron answered, trying to speak in a soothing tone, though right now he wished he could just throttle the information out of the cowardly program. "I want to join the Resistance. I need to know how to contact them."

"Shhhhh!" the bartender glanced around again, visibly trembling with nervousness. "I can't say anything; it's too dangerous, and it's not worth my life!"

"Then direct me to someone who _can_ give me the information."

The fat program chewed his lip, apparently thinking quickly. "There's one person who might be able tell you. Her name is Vala. She works for me as one of my–"

"Spare me the sordid details."

"…er, as a waitress. She hears about everyone and everything. Sit down somewhere, where it's not so crowded, and I'll send her to you. You'll know its her, when she comes."

_Somewhere where it's not crowded?_

The bartender scuffled away, presumably to look for 'Vala', so Tron was left with the almost impossible task of finding somewhere in the club that wasn't crowded. He finally found a spot near the back wall, where there was space for a couple programs to stand without being shoulder-to-shoulder with at least six more people. There he waited, wondering what made Vala so distinguishable, amongst the numerous other programs moving about in the darkness.

Then he knew.

Bright, brilliant green circuitry made its way through the crowd towards him, with a side-to-side swaying movement that could only mean a female program. And from the color of her circuits, she was either a very lucky Bostrumite, or a very bold virus. When she came within two steps of him, he noticed additional glowing green lines rimming her eyes, cheekbones, and her lower lip, so that a few of her facial features were distinguishable in their soft glow. She was, admittedly, a very beautiful woman.

"Hello, handsome," the program–Vala–said in a sultry voice.

She reached out her hand towards his chest, but Tron flinched away from her touch. He also had a strange sense of deja vu, as if he'd done this before. "Have we met?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I think I would've remembered that," Vala answered, not at all bothered. "Is it because I'm a virus that you don't want me touching you? I don't infect customers, I'll have you know."

"No, it's not that," he said, wincing from a sudden headache. "I just…had a strange feeling."

"A lot of programs have a strange feeling about me, but normally it's a different kind of strange feeling."

"I really, _really_ don't care about that. I was told you might have information that I need."

"Perhaps…but I have to ask, are you absolutely sure about this? Because if I tell you what I know, you could very well be forfeiting your life. One thing I can assure you, if you plan on betraying the Resistance with this information, they will stop at nothing to hunt you down, even if they're completely destroyed in the process. They hate a traitor above all else."

"I would be honestly surprised if they _didn't _feel that way. Tell me."

Vala sighed. "All right. It's _your_ life."


	8. Chapter 8

Tron stood on a street corner, grimly watching the streets empty of programs as the curfew loomed. There was only half a megacycle left before any program still out in the open was fair game for the guards to arrest.

He had been told to wait here, at this corner, until he was contacted. Closing his eyes briefly, Tron went over his conversation with Vala once again…

**"****The Resistance survived the Purge, but barely. They lost most of their operatives to Clu's hunters, but a few managed to hide themselves. I was one of those."**

**"****You were part of the Resistance?"**

**A sad smile fluttered across Vala's face. "I was. And for the longest time, I thought I was the only one to survive. Our communication network was destroyed, there was no way for any of us to know how many others might have escaped. Then, twenty cycles ago, I was remotely contacted by one of my friends in the Resistance, telling me that they had regrouped and asking if I wanted to come back.**

**"****Well, by then I'd gotten a job here and had pretty much settled into this life. Pay was good and I was tired of being scared, day-in and day-out. I said no, but promised I would keep an eye out for possible recruits."**

**"****So how do I get in contact with them?"**

**"****I'll set up a meeting, but beyond that you're on your own, understand? I can't get involved any further."**

**"****I understand."**

**"****And one more thing; be sure to come alone, because they'll know if you've brought company. They won't appear unless they know it's safe."**

**"****I'll be sure to remember that."**

**"****Be here in two full rotations. I should have an answer for you by then."**

It had _been_ two full rotations, and Vala had told him this was the meeting place. He'd been standing here for three megacycles already, but the Resistance was, so far, a no-show. He couldn't wait much longer, if he didn't want to have to dodge the patrols.

Tron never fidgeted, but he was sorely tempted to as the millicycles ticked by and there was still no sign of his contact. His eyes followed different programs who walked past, hoping that one of them would be the one whom he was waiting for.

A guard patrol came up the street, coming steadily nearer. Tron shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a sick feeling of nervousness settling in his gut. If he didn't move, he might be picked out by the sentries, but if he did then his contact might not show up. He held his ground, and waited with baited breath for the patrol to pass by.

They didn't. Tron cursed his bad luck when one of the six guards looked his direction and started walking towards him. The other five followed behind him, encircling Tron and holding their enforcement staffs at the ready.

"Identify," said one of the sentries.

Tron, in a moment of slight panic, said the first name that came to his mind. "Beck! My name is Beck."

"Curfew is in two millicycles. We will escort you to your quarters. Come with us."

"I…" Tron grimaced at the impossible situation. He couldn't risk leaving, and he couldn't risk fighting. _What am I supposed to do?_

"Hey, Beck, my friend, what're you doing? You didn't have to wait up for me this long! Let's get out of here."

A hand grabbed his arm and started pulling. Tron looked to his left in surprise and saw a male program with short, brush-cut white hair. Tron didn't recognize him.

"I'm sorry," the program was saying to the sentries. "I was doing some repair work in Sector 7 and lost track of time. I asked my friend here to wait for me here. We'll be going to our quarters now."

The sentries glanced at one another, then back at the new arrival. "Very well," their leader said at last. "But don't let it happen again."

"We won't! We won't," the program said earnestly.

As the sentries moved off, Tron found himself being dragged down the street at almost a run by his rescuer. "Who are–?" he began.

"Name's Hex. I'm your contact. Sorry about the sentry patrol; I wanted to see how badly you wanted in."

"So you waited until I was approached?"

"Sure did! And you're called Beck?"

"…Yes." Tron closed his eyes and said a silent apology to his dead protégé. "Where are you taking me?"

"It isn't safe to talk about it here. Just follow me."

Hex took him inside a program stasis building. Passing capsule after capsule of programs in sleep mode was slightly eerie, but Tron's companion passed them by without a glance. "This is where I live…or sleep, rather. It's changed a lot since the days of Flynn, hasn't it."

"Yes."

These buildings had been once been similar to what Flynn called "apartment buildings". Each program had had their own living spaces with at least two rooms, and they had been free to decorate or change their rooms however they wanted. Now, every floor was just one large open room with rows upon rows of sleeper capsules. No privacy, no ownership.

Hex led Tron to the brightly illuminated elevator on the far side of the room and gestured towards it. "Get in."

They both stepped inside and the door slid shut with a soft hiss, and the elevator began to go down.

"The basement?" Tron asked curiously.

"Do you think we gather out in the open? We must have our meetings in places where no one will find us."

Tron refrained from mentioning that the basement hardly seemed secure.

With a soft musical noise, the elevator slid to a stop and the door opened. The basement level was dark, lit only by softly glowing lines of circuitry which hardly served as sufficient illumination. "This way," Hex said, his voice in a soft whisper. He pulled Tron out of the well-lit elevator, and they were plunged into near pitch-blackness as the elevator door closed again. Though Tron could already sense everything in the room by his physical contact to the Grid's surface, he switched his helmet's visual setting to infrared so that he could see as well.

The basement was completely empty of programs, besides Hex and himself, but Tron had realized that already.

He stopped short.

Hex turned around, body tense, and asked in a worried voice, "What is it?"

"There's no one here."

"Is that all?" Hex said, his shoulders relaxing. "I thought there was a problem."

"There _is_ a problem. Where are they?"

"They're not _supposed _to be here, Beck. Far to obvious, and far to easy for the Occupation to trace! We've still got a bit of a ways to go."

"Go where? This is a dead end."

Hex tapped the side of his head, "Honestly, I thought you'd be smarter for a program who managed to track us down. Do you really think the Resistance lasted this long by gathering in _basements_? My friend, we had to be much, much more secretive than that. Let me show you."

Hex walked over to the far wall if the room, and, to Tron's amazement, began waving his hand through what appeared to be a completely solid wall.

"What…what is that?" He hadn't sensed an opening there at all.

"It's a secret passageway, protected by a firewall. Only programs who know about these openings can see them, or pass through. They were set up a long time ago…well anyway, I don't need to bore you with the details. Come on."

Genuinely impressed, Tron followed Hex without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

There were three programs waiting for them when Hex and Tron arrived. They'd passed through several tunnel passages before coming upon this place: it was a large, domed room with bright lighting running up it's arched walls. There were no other adornments.

The three programs who stood waiting each had different circuitry colors, their helmets hid their faces. The shortest of the three, a female from her body's curvature, had yellow circuitry. Both the programs flanking her were male, one with green circuitry and the other with blue.

The female program–_a renegade_, Tron thought–lifted an arm to point at Tron and spoke, her voice terribly distorted by her helmet. "Identify."

Hex stepped forward and patted Tron on the chest. "This here is Beck! He's asked to join us."

"Remove your helmet," the renegade demanded.

"N-no!" Tron said. "I'd rather not show my face. To anyone."

"Without identity, there can be no trust," the program with blue circuitry said.

"And no joining the Resistance," the green one said, with a slightly malicious tone.

"Silence," the renegade ordered, and the other two obediently shut their mouths. She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully, and said, "You should know, if I decide that I cannot risk allowing you to join, I cannot allow you to leave either. You will be derezzed, if that is the case."

"I am aware of that."

"And still you refuse to show your face?"

"…Yes."

The female program folded her arms, and turned her head to look at her two companions in turn. She then glanced back at Hex. "Take our guest out for a while; my companions and I will discuss this situation. You will have our verdict within the megacycle, Beck, be it one way or another."

Tron jerked his head in acknowledgement, taking two steps back before turning around and following Hex back into the wide passage. He glanced back surreptitiously, just in time to catch the yellow program as she knelt down and touched the floor with the tips of her fingers. His view was then abruptly blocked by a grey, pixelated wall that rapidly formed across the opening. _She's a hacker program, _he realized.

"Who is she?" he asked aloud.

"I'm afraid I really can't tell you anything," Hex answered apologetically. "Not until your status is determined."

Tron mentally shook his head at Hex's capacity for understatement. The success of most of his plans hinged on joining the Resistance; but, if they chose to refuse him entry he would be forced to reveal himself much earlier than he would have preferred. His ideal was to keep his identity a secret until it proved to be more of a problem than a solution.

"So, Beck…what do you do? I mean, what kind of program are you?"

"What?" Tron hadn't really payed attention to what his companion was saying.

"What's your designated purpose?" Hex clarified.

Tron considered lying and saying he was a mechanic, as the real Beck had been. However, if he _was_ admitted into the Resistance, then it would prove a problem when they found out he didn't know a thing about repairing light bikes. "I was written to be a security program," he said instead.

"Really? That's incredible! I didn't know any of the security programs had escaped Clu. Did you…_know _the Creator?"

The tone in Hex's voice was akin to an eager child. Tron felt something inside him stir; an old feeling, an old memory. He remembered the child-like awe he'd felt towards Users, so long ago. "I saw him. On occasion." _Which is true enough. At least three cycles passed between each of Flynn's visits._

"Where were you stationed?"

"Here."

"Then you served under Tron!"

The way Hex said his name–with such reverence and admiration–made Tron's guilt that much worse. He knew all too well he'd become an icon to programs who desired freedom, and it was a painful reminder of how far he'd fallen. So, how _could_ he tell the truth now? Revealing that Clu had so corrupted Tron as to have stolen his very identity and turned him into a ravenous beast, would be too terrible. The truth would destroy all the illusions, all the fantasies that Tron was an infallible hero. And that could very well crush the revolution at its heart.

"What was he like?"

Tron, lost in thought, had to drag his mind back to the present so he could answer Hex's eager question. "What was he like?" he repeated, somewhat taken aback. "Tron was…he was a quiet, serious program," he replied slowly. "Very focussed on his duties, but he would take a break sometimes and participate in the Games."

It should've been be easy, describing himself as he once had been. But after all these cycles, it was hard to remember himself as anything else than a monster.

"Ever since I was created," Hex sighed, "I wanted to be a warrior. See, I'm a maintenance program–designed for fixing things, not fighting. Tron was my hero; he was everything I wanted to be. I left my home in Purgos and came here to Tron City during the Purge, for the single purpose of joining the Resistance. I wanted to make a difference; I wanted to fight for the Users. I wanted to be like Tron."

Tron swallowed hard and opened his mouth, but no words came. However, he was saved from having to think of an answer by the crumbling away of the wall which had been blocking the doorway.

"Looks like they're ready for us," Hex said, turning.

Giving a single, jerky nod, Tron followed behind into the domed room again. If he'd had a heart, it would've been pounding furiously with anticipation.

The three programs stood before them just as they had before, their black helmets hiding their faces. After a tense moment, the renegade girl spoke.

"The decision has been made, but first I will ask you again: do you still refuse to remove your helmet?"

Tron's voice was firm with determination when he answered. "I do."

"Very well. Here is our decision: your life will be spared, but because you refuse to reveal yourself, you will be guarded and monitored at all times. If you show any signs of betrayal, you will be terminated."

The security program breathed a discreet sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said. He could live with having a guard.

Unexpectedly, the three impassive programs retracted their helmets, so Tron got his first look at their faces. The male with the green circuits had a narrow, pinched face and down-turned lips, looking as if he were completely dissatisfied with the world. The blue program was less expressive, coming across as more deep and thoughtful. Tron thought that he looked slightly familiar, but thought little more of it. As for the girl––

Tron collapsed to his knees as his head exploded with intense pain. An agonized cry left his mouth before he could bite it back, and he could dimly hear Hex's voice asking him what was wrong. Tron writhed convulsively on the floor; never before had he experienced such torturous pain, not even when his body had been sliced by Dyson's blades.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the pain was gone. Slowly, Tron's pain-numbed circuits began to feel again, and he became aware of gentle hands on his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw _her _face.

"You…I…I remember you…" he whispered hoarsely.

"Shhhh. Yes, I know," the girl responded. "I've removed the memory hack. I don't know why, but your coding must have resisted some of the effects of my programming so that when you saw my face, it triggered a backlash. Don't worry, it's gone now."

"_Why_?" Tron demanded angrily, raising himself onto one elbow. "Why did you block my memory?"

"I told you back then, I had a very good reason. _This _was the reason," she answered in an irritatingly reasonable tone. She made a wide, sweeping gesture with her arm. "I had to protect my Resistance."

"Wait…you…_you're _the leader of the Resistance?" Tron asked, truly shocked. His anger was momentarily forgotten.

She smiled. "I am. My name is Rezz. Oh, and…welcome to the Resistance, Beck."


	10. Chapter 10

Though it had been hard at first to reconcile the sassy renegade girl with this new persona of Rezz the Revolutionary, Tron gained a new respect for her as the rotations passed. He saw little of her–understandable, since she was in charge of a full-blown rebellion– but there were plenty of programs under her protection and leadership willing enough to sing her praises; Hex the foremost among them. Eventually, Tron was able to piece together the full story of how the Resistance fell, was ultimately reborn, and how Rezz fit into it all. He had been in Argon when all those events had occurred and, since Argon was in a remote location, only the propagandized version had reached him.

The first Resistance had been led by a program named Cobol, who'd been chosen for his unquestionable integrity and tactical abilities, not necessarily for his leadership skills. However, Cobol's greatest weakness was his aptness to trust too easily; anyone whose circuit color was not red he considered a potential ally. To make up for what capabilities he lacked, Cobol had chosen two more programs to be his co-leaders: one to give advice on how to lead, and the other to be in charge of security. Rezz had been given the position of head of security, on account of her incredible talent at hacking and programming, as well as her infinitely suspicious mind.

It had been Rezz's idea and task to build the catacombs, and she'd accomplished it in a mere three full rotations.

The Resistance had made good use of the advantage the catacombs gave them over Clu's forces. Numerous rescue missions were sent to the Solar Sailers as they carted off prisoners to the Games, and the Clu's guards were continually frustrated by the rebels' ability to seemingly disappear without a trace. More and more followers had flocked to join the ranks of the Resistance, and hopes had run high.

It came as a terrible shock when, during a mission to sabotage a fleet of Clu's tankers, a team of rebels was ambushed and brutally slaughtered. Both Rezz and the other co-leader had warned Cobol that there had to be an information leak somewhere, but Cobol refused to authorize a search on the pretense that it would cause unrest and distrust in the ranks. Rezz's request to do a discreet disc scan of every Resistance member had also been turned down.

For a long while, there were no other casualties and even Rezz had begun to believe it had been simply a stroke of good luck on Clu's part. But then, in quick succession, multiple Resistance raids were foiled and all the programs involved derezzed. Even Cobol had to admit it couldn't have been an accident this time, and authorized the disc scan.

They had waited too long.

While Rezz frantically searched for a traitor, the Resistance cut back severely on their number missions, as well as the number of programs authorized to know about them. It did no good; more and more rebels were dying, while fear and distrust began to creep into the ranks, further eroding the unity that was so necessary for victory.

Rezz did eventually find the traitor–a nobody by the name of Unix–but by then, it was too late. Unix had sold his soul to the devil, and told Clu everything he knew about the Resistance and the secret of the catacombs. By the time Unix had been identified as the leak, Clu's soldiers were swarming into the tunnels, killing every program they came across.

Unix, in hopes of gaining a reward when the Resistance was finally crushed, had betrayed his fellow programs. His only payment was a slow, painful death at the hands of a blindly enraged Rezz.

She had refused to run and save herself, but instead remained in the tunnels to aid in the escape of as many as she could. The few who had survived that terrible massacre had believed Rezz was dead. It had been more than 900 cycles before any of them knew any different.

No one knew what Rezz had been doing during those long, long cycles, and she'd never told. But when those few original Resistance members came back to Tron City, they found her looking and acting much the same as she ever had; only her eyes were older. They also discovered that while they had been hiding and trembling in fear, she had been busy. Rezz had completely re-programmed the catacombs, changing the tunnel paths, closing off all the old entrances, and adding stronger firewalls to the new openings.

In the twenty cycles leading up to the present, the new Resistance had very slowly accumulated members, having learned from the brutal lesson of the past that they could never be too cautious. Even now, it was smaller than it had been, but many liked to believe it was a stronger, more unified force.

"It seemed natural to choose Rezz as the leader of this Resistance," Hex said to Tron, walking beside him down one of the many twisting tunnels. The white-haired program nodded to other programs who walked past. "She was the only one of us willing to take the risks and do the work that would keep it alive, for all those hundreds of cycles."

Tron had to admit that he admired the faith and determination that such firm dedication would require. It was a quality that, he knew very well, could only be found in a special few. Beck had been one of those who'd possessed such rare merit.

"One of the many things she's insisted on doing," Hex continued, "is taking in and caring for any stray programs who chance to find their way down here. She never talks about what happened to her after the first Resistance was destroyed, but I feel that strays played a part. I knew her in the first days, and she often said she believed the best solution for programs who had lost their identities and their minds was to put them out of their misery. Something happened to her that made her change her mind."

Tron's curiosity was piqued. He'd once had to deal with a disc-less Beck, and both of them had nearly died as a result. "What can be done for them?"

Hex stopped and rubbed the back of his head with his hand. "Well, I could just tell you, or I could do better, and show you. Come, follow me."


End file.
